


mo dhachaigh

by themidnightartemis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forced Marriage, Outlander - Freeform, Scotland, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidnightartemis/pseuds/themidnightartemis
Summary: /mo ghah chee h/my homeRey Snoke is on her long-overdue honeymoon with her husband in the Scottish highlands. Bored of sitting around while her husband dives into his family history, she goes to explore stones at Craigh Na Dun. With one touch, she finds herself thrown back in time and taken further and further away from home by a ragtag group of Scottish rebels and a man who calls himself Kylo Ren.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 46





	1. End of the War

_ September 1945 _

The end of the war came more like a whisper than a bang. With Hitler gone and the ruins of Hiroshima still smoking, the news of a treaty felt like the world had sighed. It was a breath that I too participated in. 

Though Henry and I had returned home weeks before, we had been stuck in a waiting game, never knowing if there would be a call or knock on their door ordering us away to some distant land. To fight another battle far apart from each other. Never knowing if the other was still alive from moment to moment. 

But that day I was able to breathe again, if only for a moment. And I agreed to tag along with my new husband to the Highlands of Scotland so that he could spend his weeks researching his newest obsession, his ancestor. Johnathan Snoke was his name, but he more often went by Jack. He was a fearsome foe during the Jacobean uprisings in the 1700s when Bonny Prince Charlie tried to take England back with the help of the Scotts. From what Henry told me, and my knowledge of our Queen Elizabeth’s history, I knew that the Scotts didn’t succeed. 

My only request was that we did not take a plane. I had spent enough time in the skies flying planes during the war. The skies over the United Kingdom were far too familiar for me. And though I had developed a strong fascination with planes and mechanics during my time as a ferry pilot, I now wanted to keep my feet firmly on the ground. At least for a little while. 

We left the city of London far behind us, and I was thankful to escape to the countryside where the after-effects of the war were much less apparent. Fewer buildings turned to rubble and skittish people here. No one was waiting for the raid sirens to go off or for bombs to start falling from the sky once more. 

As we crossed the country, I kept my gaze firmly planted on the dark grey roads ahead and away from the all too familiar airspace. Henry held my hand as he drove the twisting roads to Inverness.

Of the three short years we had been married, I could count the number of weeks we had spent together on one hand. A day here, a week there. Once we were even lucky enough to spy each other across the airfield as I dropped off my second Spitfire of the day for the RAF boys. 

He was my fighter pilot and I was his delivery girl. 

We had married quickly at the courthouse and barely had enough time for a wedding night. He shipped off the next day, and I shipped off the next week. We both took to the skies and wrote letters and weathered the years of war together. I had barely known the man before we married, just three short months of dating before the draft. And now here we were, three long years later, two married people who hardly knew each other anymore. 

Though married life seemed to suit us. And now we had time to grow. Together, I hoped. Room for a family, children, maybe a dog. Though I wasn’t sure how much I really wanted all of that. I knew that I should want it- the chance to settle down, to not look over my shoulder, to not wonder if the Germans were about to descend and shoot me out of the sky. Quiet family life. It almost made my fingers itch, and I make the mistake of looking up at the grey sky. 

Longing. That’s what I feel. Not for flying, really, but for freedom. I had had an important job to do. I was necessary. Needed. Even if the job was begrudgingly given, I was still important. Now, all of that was ripped away from me once more. And despite having Henry beside me, wrapped around me, calling my name at night, I felt lonely. 

I shouldn’t. The war was over. I should be happy. 

I guess now is the time to tell you to be careful what you wish for. 

Because looking back now, I feel as though when I cast my eyes to the sky, I had cast a wish as well. I wish for that same freedom. That same importance. That hunger for more. 

And I guess that 1945 did not have what I wanted anymore. 

Because 1945 was an end, not a beginning. And 1945 had me sitting uncomfortably in a button-up dress and a woolen sweater in the comfortable, but the too-large house of the local Inverness priest. Father Doctor Martin Kalonia. He and Henry were arguing over the timeline of the Battle of Prestonpans, and I was arguing with the hem-line of my dress and the way it rode up just a bit to far when I tried to cross my legs. I couldn’t cross my legs how I wanted. Not without showing off my pants to the respectable Father Kalonia. 

I often found myself missing my trousers and bomber jacket. It wasn’t often that I would take them out and wear them. I received far too many strange stares when I wore them in public. People didn’t like to be reminded of the war. Or the fact that women were actually useful during the war. 

But after trudging through the mud of Culloden Moor yesterday, I was beginning to not care what others thought. The Highlands of Scotland definitely had its own quirks, so mine was just as well. 

The many quirks were half the reason I didn’t raise my eyebrows at the stories Mrs. Kalonia told me. She had been a nurse in the war, so we had sat down to tea to swap stories and make comments on the changing of the tides. 

She laughed at my comments on some of the strange traditions that I had noticed in the highlands already during my short stay there. 

“Ah, well yes, we may be Catholic, but we are no strangers to the fey, ye ken?” Her Scottish accent was a strange comfort to me. “There’s a solid group of young and old ladies in Inverness who practice the ancient rites and keep the fey in check, but they’re all god-fearing girls. Can’ever be too careful.”

My interest peaked and suddenly I’m remembering the girls in the bunkers passing around ghost stories in the night as we all tried to forget what was happening in the world. “Are there many stories around here? Of the supernatural?”

“Oh far too many to count. But if you’re interested, the best place to go is Craigh na Dun not too far from here. I can show you a map. The best time to go is on a clear midwinter day, close to sunset, and though it is Autumn, I should think it’s late enough in the season,” Mrs. Kalonia stood from her chair and began to root around for a paper and pen. “Today wouldn’t be a bad day, now that I think of it.”

“Oh, I think Henry has us booked for pretty much every hour here.”

“Pah, don’t be silly, young lady. You’re a strong independent woman. You know how to ride a bike don’t you? Go take yourself up to the cairns and escape the stuffy old library for a while. Ah, here.” Now with pen and paper in hand, Mrs. Kalonia sits back down and begins to draw a crude map. She marks Inverness and a road headed out of town. “It’s about twenty kilometers out of town. You have to go past Cocknammon Rock. Looks like a Rooster’s tail feathers stickin’ straight out of the earth. There’s a little dirt road and a crest where the circle is. You can’t miss it. Now come on, off with you. Tell your husband and I’ll get the bike ready.”

I was left with little room to argue, and I was itching to get out and explore the land I had so often flown over. So, I hurried back to the library and quickly kissed Henry on the cheek. He stopped in his arguing with the Father only long enough for me to tell him where I was off to and that I would be back after dark, but not to worry. 

I found Mrs. Kalonia sitting in the front of the house looking a bit comical in her pink house dress sitting astride a roaring Norton 16H, probably fresh from the military base it had been purchased from. I was sure I would look equally as ridiculous, especially since it had been a while since I rode a motorcycle. I was just as good as any of the other girls on the base. It had been a good way to pass the long hours they would sometimes have to wait, and the men who owned the bikes didn’t seem to mind. 

I flipped my leg over the seat of the bike and gave a fond farewell wave to Mrs. Kalonia who looked quite like she wanted to hop on back and join me. I took off down the stony road and headed towards the little bed and breakfast Henry and I had been staying at near the center of Inverness. I wouldn’t last long with only my dress and sweater to keep me warm, so I stopped to change into the only pair of pants I had and my old bomber jacket. It had served me well in the frigid altitude of the sky, well worn in a way that it fit me perfectly. It was both a reminder of the war and of myself. I wasn’t the type of person to settle down with a family, I decided. I was the type of person to trot halfway across the globe on a whim or into the Scottish Highlands at the gentle nudging of a Priest’s wife to chase ghost stories. 

Had I known then that I might never return to that little bed and breakfast, I’m not sure that I would have left. There was even a little tingle in my gut telling me to look back, but I ignored it, instead focussing on the idea of getting out on my own and exploring something more exciting than a dust old library. 

So, I set off down the road, following it for twenty kilometers as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky. The Scottish hills and mountains replaced the city’s skyline. The sky was beginning to erupt in glorious colors of a beautiful sunset and I gunned the engine to race through the hills and past pastures. 

I nearly missed the hill the stone circle was on, but I slowed and looked at it at the last second. There was a small path leading up the steep, high hill. I parked the motorcycle and began to climb, hurrying to make it to the top before the sun set completely and the magic of the cairns were lost. 

My feet trespassed into grass as my eyes took in the ancient stones. I felt that I was a spy, lurking somewhere she was not met to be, seeing an ancient history that was not for her eyes to see. Large monolithic stones rose unnaturally from the ground standing testament to time and history. They had been there long before I was even a thought, and they would be there long after I was forgotten. 

The sun dipped lower in the sky until the edge of the orb touched the horizon and the rocks began to sing. If it wasn’t so loud I would have thought I imagined it, or that it was a trick of the mountains and hills surrounding me. I moved as if possessed by some other power to the cracked stone in the middle as the sound reached piercing levels in my head. It sounded of screams and cries and song and laughter, a cacophony of voices that I could not separate. 

It was all coming from the center stone. As the sun dipped lower, beams of light rushed across the highlands and landed on the stone in front of me. To this day, I still do not know what desire possessed me to reach out and touch that cursed stone. I only know that I had no choice in the matter. That some might say it was fate.

And a beautiful, cursed fate it was.


	2. Through the Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chum thu air deireadh air chàch mi  
> Gun fhios dha m'athair no m' mhàthair   
> Gun fhios dham phiuthar no m' bhràithair 
> 
> You have kept me behind all the others  
> Unknown to my father or mother  
> Unknown to sister or brother
> 
> \- Oganaich Uir A Rinn M'fhagail, Julie Fowlis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW (especially for those who haven't seen the show or read the books): Abuse, Assault, Language   
> \- Pretty much will stay in line with the show's/book's contents-- warning-wise

_ The Past, Time Uncertain _

There were two things that I remember about passing through time. The first was the feeling of falling, though I could see nothing around me to signify my fall, just black, murky darkness. The second was the sound, muffled language that passed quickly by me, too fast for me to comprehend what was being said or sung. It was as if I was hearing every snippet of conversation spoken to the rocks since they were first placed there to stand as silent guardians. 

My fall was ended suddenly as I hit the ground, dazed and confused. Had I passed out? The sky above me was now dark violet and filled with stars. There was nothing that I could remember that would have caused me to faint, so did someone hit me with something? Had I been robbed? I looked down at my finger to see that my simple wedding band was still there. Where there was once a small diamond, it was now missing. I sat up suddenly and scrambled my fingers through the grass searching for it desperately. The small band with the tiny diamond had been all that Henry could afford on a soldier’s pension. He had always promised to replace it with a bigger, better ring, but I had refused. It was our wedding ring. I didn’t care how much it cost or what it looked like as long as it meant that him and me became a we. But now the diamond was gone. 

Did I lose it on the hike up the hill? Or worse, somewhere along the road? Even in the bright light of the full moon, it was hopeless trying to find it. We would have to come back tomorrow and search for it, even if it was so tiny that we would never be able to find it. I had to try. We had to try. 

I hurried down the gravelly path, desperately trying to get back to my motorcycle and back home. I didn’t really know what time it was, though if I stopped to stare at the sky, I could probably figure it out. Navigating by the stars had become like second nature to me during the war. 

If I hadn’t been so eager to get back home, perhaps I would have noticed that where there once was a fence for the pasture, there was now nothing. And the path that I traveled on was less worn down and muddier than before. 

Maybe I would have gone back to the circle to see if I had gone the wrong way. Maybe I would have kept searching for my diamond. Maybe I would have touched the stone once more, and my time trespassing into a different life would have been brief and unnoticed. 

My feet raced down the path until it ended suddenly and my confusion began. The road should have been there. My motorcycle should have been not two meters away. I turned around trying to orient myself again. Had I gone down the wrong path? Taken a turn that I hadn’t seen before on my way up?

A gunshot ripped through the air and the ground beside me exploded. My next reactions were ones that had been ingrained in me nearly every day for the last four years. Run. Hide. Cover. No time for thinking. Thinking means death. 

My eyes search the skies for bomber planes as I race towards the closest available cover, the thick trees of a heavily wooded area. Had I been in my right mindset, I may have noticed that these trees were much older and thicker than the modern forests of Scotland. But it was hard to think when all I heard were the muffled sounds of gunshots and men’s yells that echoed through the forest. I kept running, kept moving, until the land descended to a stream bathed in moonlight, but otherwise hidden by large juts of rough, mossy stone. 

I pressed myself against the rock and tried to calm my breathing. I could still hear the gunshots and yells, but they sounded more like pistols than machine guns. One shot at a time, long pauses between.  _ But the war is done. The war is over.  _ My brain tried to think rationally. I knew that the Scots didn’t really like the English, but much of the tension was between the Irish and the English. And who would call for infighting so soon after the end of the Great War? 

None of that much mattered when they were shooting at me. It didn’t matter why if I was just going to get shot anyway and die. 

See? Think later. Run. Hide. Cover. I was about to make my move to skirt through the forest and around the edge of Craigh na dun to find my bike and get the hell out of here when I heard the undeniable click of a hammer being pulled back. 

“Turn. Slowly.” The voice is rough but oddly familiar. 

I slowly raise my hands and turn to face my attacker. The moonlight is faint, but my eyes have adjusted well enough to see the man standing in front of me holding a gun to my head. “Henry? Henry, what the hell?”

He was dressed very strangely in what seemed to be an old British uniform, though this one seemed brand new. His eyes were hard and furious. “What’s an English woman like you doing in the middle of the woods?”

“What do you mean? Henry, what are you playing at? This isn’t funny.”

“Henry? There’s no Henry here. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in with those Scottish scum,” he eyes me with a leering eye and I slowly take a step back. “Though you are half-naked in strange clothes. Don’t you miss a British man? Refined? Less hairy? Or maybe you prefer wild savagery.” 

“Henry, please stop, you’re scaring me.”

“My name is Captain Johnathan Snoke.” 

My heart stops completely and my feet turn to run, but he’s on me before I can take a step. He throws me against the ground, and I scrape at the dirt to get away but he’s on top of me and tearing at the top of my pants and there’s a hand on my mouth to keep me from screaming so I scream on the inside. “Prancing around the Queen’s countryside pretending to be a man won't keep you-“

A loud crack above me cuts off his words, and his weight is lifted from me. I don’t have a second to think or breathe before I’m hauled to my feet by a different hand and dragged through the dark forest. I desperately try to pull away from my rescuer, but his hand remains firm around my arm. He’s a giant beside me, nearly seven feet tall, all bushy hair and wild-looking in the dark. He’s not wearing the British uniform, but something darker and more rugged. 

“Stop yer fussing if ye don’t want a bullet to your head or a cock in your cunt.”

I freeze, but this only prompts the man to tug me harder along with him. “I’ll scream.”

“Do that and I'll leave ye here for the dogs. Ye come with me quietly and I can at least keep ye safe 'til morning.”

More gunshots ring out in the distance and it takes me an instant to realize that if I am to survive the night and wake up from this nightmare, then I should comply with this beast of a man. I let him lead me through the dark woods which he seems to know like the back of his hand and it isn’t long until we come to a small dark cottage. He opens the door and throws me inside, and I’m suddenly basked in candlelight. A dozen eyes focus on me.

“Who’s this.”

“British lass. Caught her being attacked by none other than Captain Jack.”

“I hope ye sliced his throat for me.” 

“No chance.”

My mind is racing to take in the information that is surrounding me. There’s nothing but a group of men, but they’re unlike any men I had ever seen. They seemed to be playing dress-up, wearing knives and swords and pistols and clothes that looked like they were pulled out of a history book and dragged through the mud. 

“She could be a spy.” There’s a short, dark-haired man leaning against the wall of the small stone house. He moves in a way that tells me he’s the leader of this lot.

“I’m not a spy,” I say and the reaction in the room tells me that they’re surprised I can even speak. “Did no one tell you that the war is over and it wasn’t against the British?”

A hearty chuckle goes around the room and I’m beginning to move beyond scared and into pissed. 

“The war is just beginning, lassie.” Another man chimes in. 

The leader of the group sends him a look that could kill and the man immediately shuts up and turns his eyes down. The leader takes a sip of something that I don’t think is water. “Would ye tell us what a young English woman like yourself is doing dressed as a man in the middle of the woods at night in times like these? Speaking to Captain Jack of all people?”

“I wasn’t speaking to him. ” I spit out. 

The man’s eyes narrow. “That dinna answer my question, lass.”

“I was at Craigh na dun. I took a wrong path down the hill and before I could trace my steps back, I was shot at. So I ran.”

“Nearest town is more than a fair walk away.”

“I rode.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“My horse? No- I rode a-“

A sharp cry of pain interrupts me and I stop to look at its source. There’s a figure by the fire doubled over in seemingly grand amounts of pain. I watch as the leader goes over to him and touches the figure’s shoulder. The figure winces. In the light, I can see now why he’s in so much pain. Dislocated shoulder. 

“Let’s put that back where it belongs.” The leader takes the man’s arm and he groans in pain. He’s doing it wrong. He’s going to-

“Stop!” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. All eyes in the room turn to me, including the man at the fire. His eyes are dark and intense, wet with the pain he’s holding back. “You’re going to injure the tendons and muscles even more. Let me.”

I step forward and am met with a wall of heavily armed men about ready to place their blades in my side. I stop and eye the leader, completely unsure as to why I’m even bothering to help my now kidnappers. “I’ve been trained in first aid. I know how to reset his arm correctly.”

The leader eyes me for a moment then nods. I slowly inch forward until my hands are on the injured man's arm. He groans as I slowly maneuver his arm into the correct position. “I’m going to need you to resist me. Push when I push, okay? I’m not strong enough to do it on my own. And it’s going to hurt. A lot.”

The man says nothing, just quietly nods. I take a deep breath and still myself. “On three. One… two… three…”

I push with all my might and he pushes back, groaning as the joint slips back into place. His dark eyes are watching my every move. “Is there a long bit of cloth for a sling?”

Someone hands me a bit of dirty cloth and I suppose it’s the best we’ve got right now. I fashion him a sling. “Rest your arm for a few days. No strenuous activity or you’ll hurt it further.”

“We’ve best be going. Won’t be long until those bloody bastards find us again.” The leader says and all the men begin to move. I head toward the door ready to make my way through the night and back to the stones to find my bike and get very, very far away from here. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” A hand grabs my arm and I yank away. I was getting very tired of strange men grabbing me whenever they pleased. 

“Back to Craigh na dun and far away from you lot.” 

His eyes narrow and I can tell he doesn’t like my answer. “I think you’re coming with us, lass.”

“Like hell I am.” I spit at his feet and this time blades are actually drawn. The leader of the group just laughs. 

“Yer a feisty one,” he chuckles. “Until I get the truth of who ye are and whether or not yer a spy for the British, yer not going anywhere.”

“And what if I chose to go somewhere?”

“Then ye will be forcibly readjusted to the correct course.” 

My heart pounds as I stare at the wild men before me. None of this made any sense. My head rebelled at the possible conclusions to this mess that I had already drawn. If that truly was Captain Johnathan Snoke back in those woods and not a horrible prank by my husband, then that meant that I was no longer in the safe hands of 1945. That somehow I had been transported through time to the mid-1700s. 

Impossible. 

It was all impossible. 

My mind clung to the last possible sane explanation, that this was all a strange dream. And soon I would wake up in the too small, too squeaky bed of our bed and breakfast. I would roll over and tell Henry about the strangest dream I just had.

And then I remember that I hadn’t gone back to the bed and breakfast. That this couldn’t be a dream. That this all felt very, very, terrifyingly real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who might that be? ;)
> 
> It should also be noted, that I am not a Gaelic speaker (though I'm trying to learn!). I'll do my best to make notes of pronunciations in the endnotes when necessary. 
> 
> Follow Me On [Tumblr!](https://thesnowfire13.tumblr.com/)


	3. A Long Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrown back in time, ambushed, and captured, Rey tries to make it back to the stones. Seems fate has yet to let her go.

_ The Scottish Highlands, The mid-1700s _

The Theory of Occam’s Razor suggests that whatever answer is the simplest is likely the answer. Unfortunately, for me, that meant that the simplest answer to my problem was that I had indeed gone back in time, traveled through the stones. The idea that I had somehow made it from Craigh na Dun to my bed without remembering and was now stuck in the most vivid dream I’ve ever had was a bit less simple. 

What Occam doesn’t tell you is how to solve the problem you’re now in. You may know why, but he doesn’t tell you how.

His razor blade was probably dull anyway. 

I have little time to gather my thoughts before I’m unceremoniously yanked out of the small stone cabin and into the dark night. There’s a group of unruly horses on the other side of the house and the men saddle them quickly.

I’m captured behind enemy lines. It was something that I had thought very little about during the war. I was never close enough to the front lines, and if the plane went down I was either going with it or landing on home territory. 

This time it wasn’t the Germans. This time it was rogue Scotsmen. And I wasn’t sure how friendly the English were towards me either. I couldn’t fight them all. I couldn’t talk my way out of it or tell them the actual truth of the matter. I would sound insane. I would feel insane. I wasn’t sure what they would do to women they deemed crazy in this century, but I knew it wasn’t good. My only hope, my only chance was to wait for an opportunity and run as fast as I could. I had to get back to the stones and back to a safe time. 

I was hefted onto the back of a horse by the giant man who rescued me with nothing more than a grunt. I had never been on a horse, but I doubted that I would get far versus these trained men. The horse beneath me snickered as if it knew what I was thinking about and disliked it very much. 

“Woah there.” The man with the dislocated shoulder touched his hand to the horse’s nose and the mare huffed into his hand. “Looks like I’ll be keeping an eye on ye.”

Of course, I wouldn’t be riding alone. I shifted as far forward as I could as the man easily swung himself behind me. He reached around me and I stiffened at his touch as he grabbed the reins. 

“I willnae hurt ye, Sassenach. Unless ye try to run away, which is far more dangerous than just coming with us.”

Sassenach. It was a word I had only heard a few times before. Mainly from a Scottish pilot I once knew. She had been a fantastic flyer, all red hair and fire. Daisy was her name. She died in an air raid trying to save someone else. I closed my eyes on the picture of her face and tried to block out her last words to me. “That’s bonny, sassenach.”

“What’s that, lass?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, putting away the memory for another time. Sassenach. It typically was used when referring to an Englishman, but it had a different meaning. Outlander. Someone who doesn’t belong. 

He was right in calling me that in more ways than he knew. 

We start down the road following a dark, barely visible path. But it’s obvious that my captors know this land well. I wouldn’t get very far on foot without some sort of distraction. But a distraction good enough would have to be larger than anything I could manage. 

I tilt my head up, inadvertently leaning back against the man behind me. But I need to see the stars. We were headed northwest, back towards Inverness on the very same road that I had not long ago driven along on the Kalonia’s motorcycle. Only now it was no longer paved and little more than a dirt track filled with wheel ruts. 

We’d be passing by Inverness, but I doubted that the city could be of any use to me now. All that mattered was the stones. All that mattered was getting back. And with each hoof step, I was moving further away from that goal. 

“Dinnae think about it, lass. You willnae make it far.” His breath is hot against my ear, his voice low. 

“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

“Aye. If you wasnae thinking about anything, why did ye tense up so?” He was teasing me. It was if he knew exactly what I was thinking, which I supposed wasn’t too hard to catch on to. 

“Can I at least know your names?”

“Names are powerful things, lassie.”

“Yes, and what’s yours?” 

“Kylo.”

It sounded fake the moment he said it, but he said it with such conviction I was forced to believe it. Or at least accept it. “Kylo.”

“Aye.” He grunted.

“Not very Scottish sounding.”

He shrugged and winced at his painful shoulder. “I ken.”

We ride in silence for a while longer. The night has grown heavy with the sounds of the forest and the pad of horse hooves. There are no more yells, no more shots fired. 

“Rey.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s my name. Rey.” I’m not sure why I said it. Maybe it was to break the dragging silence. Maybe it was hope that he would take pity on me and return me to the standing stones.

“Got a family name, Rey?”

My married name nearly slips out of my mouth until I remember the hulking shadow of Henry’s ancestor in the woods. No matter how silver-tongued I was, I wouldn’t be able to explain how I had the same last name as the feared Captain. Especially one as uncommon as Snoke. “Niima.”

My maiden name. At least I would answer it if called. And it wasn’t a lie, not exactly. 

“Niima.” The name rolls over Kylo’s tongue strangely. “What does it mean?”

“Er… I don’t know. I’m named after the place I was found.”

“Found?” 

He was sure asking a lot of questions now that I had him talking. He was getting more out of me than I was out of him, but perhaps that was to my advantage. “Yes. As a child. I was an orphan.”

He grunts as if that is enough explanation. There was no need for me to come up with a lie. Hopefully, these men knew nothing of London. Though I supposed that the Niima Cafe wouldn’t exist for another two hundred years or so. “Why dinna take your husband’s last name?”

Shit. He had noticed the ring on my finger. My heart raced as I tried to come up with a plausible explanation. The only thing that came to my lips was, “He died.”

Technically, he didn’t exist yet. My mind wanted to ponder the question of whether lack of existence was the same thing as death and if you were dead before you were born, but I was already exhausted both mentally and physically. 

“Usually wives keep the last names of their husbands, even if they are dead, Sassenach.” His voice was a low growl against my ear again. “Ye better keep your story straight or your neck will be slit by morn.”

“I didn’t like him very much. I liked his name even less. It could get me killed if I go by it.” Lies. Lies are interwoven with truths. 

“And what name would that be?”

“Names are powerful things, lad.” I do my best imitation of him. I really shouldn’t be mocking my captors, but I think I feel the rumble of a quiet chuckle behind me. 

“No matter what ye story is, it’s best you tell it. As truthfully as ye can. There’s no reason for a woman to be wandering this late so far from home.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“I dinna ken you are. But the rest of the lads do. And until we ken your intent, ye shall not leave our sights.”

***

We ride until the steady movement of the horse has me falling asleep, and the next time I open my eyes, it’s morning and we’re stopping. I start, nearly throwing Kylo off the horse as panic seizes my heart. 

It’s all real. 

It’s all really real. 

And I fell asleep. I turn my head so fast that I nearly fall off the horse, but Kylo’s arms are around me holding me steady. 

“Where am I? Where are we?” 

“Dinna fash, lass. We’re near Clach a’ Choillich,” Kylo swings off from behind me and keeps hold of the reigns. He offers me a hand, but I jump down without his help and turn until I see it. Cocknammon Rock. Shaped like a Rooster’s tail, it jutted high above the treetops. Only now it’s on the wrong side of me- to the north when it should have been in the west. We were headed west now, directly away from Inverness and further inland. My mind reeled with the implications of this as a memory began to play. 

_ “You see that there? Cocknammon Rock. Captain Jack and the British regiments used to wait up there for unsuspecting Scottish Rebels. Great place for an ambush _ .”

Henry’s voice comes back to me like a haunting ghost, and I’m suddenly back in the car, racing down the road to Inverness beside him. That felt like lifetimes ago, though it was only days. Centuries, in actuality. 

“What did ye say, lass?” Kylo’s looking at me with dark eyes that pierce me to the core. I didn’t remember speaking, but I must have muttered Henry’s words to myself. 

“Er… That’s Cocknammon Rock, yes?”

“Aye,” He cocked an eyebrow and raised a suspicious eye to the monolith of rock. 

“I… Er… My husband used to say that Cocknammon Rock was a good place for an ambush.”

Kylo stills at my words and suddenly he seems to be listening and watching for something that I can’t see. He starts whistling a slow tune, and I watch as the group of men shifts ever so subtly. It’s the mark of a group that has been fighting together for lifetimes. The uncanny ability to communicate without words or sound or really even body language. I can only see it because I’ve seen it so many times during the war. These men were soldiers, warriors, bound by blood. And I had just let them know that the enemy was approaching. 

This would be my only chance at escaping. Kylo kept whistling but drew me near to speak in my ear once more. As he stopped whistling, another man took it up seamlessly. “When I say run, you run and you hide.”

I wasn’t planning on hiding. The moment I nod, all hell breaks loose. Men in red coats are charging down the hillside, rushing the horses. Shots are fired in every direction and I’m thrown from the horse. I land hard, but I don’t let the pain of hitting the ground phase me. I know exactly where I need to go, but getting there on the road wasn’t an option. I charged into the trees, disappearing into the forest and trying to get myself as far away and as unfindable as I can. 

I can run for a few kilometers, then keep walking. Keep moving. And hopefully, I will have covered enough ground that the Scotsmen wouldn’t come looking for me. I run until the shots and the shouts have faded away into the forest, and then I run some more. Slowly orienting myself in the direction of Craigh na dun once I’m deep enough into the forest. 

These men know the woods far better than I do. But who was I? Just a woman. Perhaps a spy, but they didn’t know that. And I was sure that they had far better places to be and far better things to do than to chase an English woman through the woods. 

I’m sweating through my jacket, so I stop only to take it off and keep jogging. My jog slows to a walk, which slows to a crawl in the rooted and rocky woods. My stomach grumbles and I’m reminded that I haven’t eaten anything since dinner with the Kalonia’s roughly two hundred years in the future. The hunger is bearable, but the thirst is not. But it isn’t long before I stumble upon a stream and fall to my knees to drink from it. It had only been a few months since the military, but already the effects of a less physical life were catching up to me.  _ Far too many biscuits _ , I decided.  _ But when I get back to my own time, I’m stuffing down a dozen.  _

I stand up from the stream and decide that I can walk from now on. I had already traveled nearly two kilometers, but there were plenty more to go and I would be lucky to make it back to the standing stones before night time at this rate. 

Determined and called by the song of biscuits and a warm bed, I set off in the direction of the stones. 

As I walked, the winds in the woods began to pick up, and the sky grew darker and darker by the minute. There was a storm rolling in, and it wasn’t long before the first raindrops hit my face. I put my jacket back on and kept trudging through the forest, even as the temperature rapidly dropped and the rain grew steadily harder. After several hours, I was making little progress but decided that the Scotsmen were probably continuing their journey or taking shelter if they hadn’t all been killed by the British. 

The speed the road will bring me is worth the risk. I head back in the direction of the road, moving diagonally towards it so as to not lose more time. The more time I was stuck in the 1700s, the more worried I grew that I would never make it out.

The treetops above me broke and I was hit with a torrent of rain that soaked me through as I stepped onto the muddy road. Thunder boomed overhead as I wrapped my arms around me and tried to stay under the protection of the trees as I walked. There was no telling now how close I was to the stones. All I knew was that I was somewhere between Cocknammon Rock and where I needed to be. 

The storm was so loud that I didn’t hear the sound of hooves racing through the mud until they were right on me. I screamed and fell back into the mud as a tall dark figure leaped down beside me into the mud. His long black hair was plastered to his face and he bore a sword in one hand. I could see the stain of blood on his wet shirt. 

“When I told ye to run and hide, I dinna mean this far, Sassenach.” He shifted and for a second, I thought that I had met my end, but he only offered a hand to pull me from the mud. 

It was just him. And his arm was injured. I could take him. But attempting to steal and ride a horse in these conditions would leave both of us horseless. I reached for his hand and yank to try and pull him down into the mud, but he was prepared and built like a tank. My heart pounding, I scramble to run away, but his arms wrap around me and I’m pounding against his chest. “Please just let me go. Please. I just want to go home.”

“I’m verra sorry, Rey. I cannae let you go now.” 

“I promise. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even know who you are or your clan. I don’t know anything. Just please let me go.”

“I wish I could believe ye enough to know ye will keep your word. One word from ye and all our bonny heads will be in nooses come morning. It’ll be much easier if ye just come with us to Dun Mhuir. And we get ye sorted from there.” He’s gentle and kind in his wording and it's enough to keep me from hitting him again. It’s only then that I notice that he’s holding me with both arms. 

“Your arm. It’s supposed to be in a sling.” My fingers find the sling that I tied still around his neck, and I make him tuck his arm back in it. 

“Dinna fash. It dinnae hurt.” He grunts as I tighten the sling. “Much.”

He holds the reins as I climb onto the horse, and he quickly climbs on behind me. I try to tell myself that I’m not crying, that it’s only the rain on my cheeks as we turn the opposite way down the road and head back the way I had come from. 

With every step, any hope of returning to my rightful time fell further and further away. I resigned myself to my fate as a hanged man resigns himself to the gallows. What Kylo didn’t understand is that in taking me away, he had led me to the noose instead. What I understood is that I could never tell him- or anyone- my true nature. 

It would be five long months before I ever saw the standing stones again.


	4. The Road to Dun Mhuir

_ A westbound road from Inverness, The Scottish Highlands, The mid-1700s _

_ Nearly One Day Since the Stones... _

The rain lasted the rest of the day, and I was completely soaked through and shivering and covered in mud. Kylo stopped only once to adjust himself, and pull a swath of his kilt around our shoulders. 

I was immediately enveloped in warmth, and I didn’t complain when he pressed himself tightly against me. It was the only way neither of us would freeze to death. We rode hard and fast, trying to catch up with the others I suppose. Only once we were far past Cocknammon Rock and the road to Inverness did we begin to slow. Kylo was quiet, and it was only when he slumped over that I realized anything was wrong. 

“Kylo? Kylo!” I barely caught on to the edges of the tartan plaid as he threatened to fall off the horse. My grip on the cloth was the only thing keeping him on. Something was wrong, but if he fell off now and didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I wasn’t strong enough to pick him up. 

_ Just leave him and ride back to the stones.  _ I hated the thought as soon as I thought it. No matter who he was, no one deserved to die alone on the side of the road. I had seen enough of that in just my lifetime. 

I did the only thing that I could think of, which was to grab the reins and pray that the next group of travelers I stumbled upon were my kidnappers. I managed to grab Kylo’s arm, lock it over my shoulder, and push the horse down the road. He wakes a moment later, grabbing me around the waist so roughly we almost both go flying. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that! Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Your wound!”

“Hmm. Bullet. To my thigh. It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing! You just passed out on me. And if I don’t get you to your men fast you’re going to pass out again and die in the middle of the road because you’re so damn huge I can’t lift you.”

My ranting gets me nothing but a soft giggle from Kylo. I curse louder against the rain, but my prayers are answered as I crest the next hill and spy a sad, wet group of men and horses plodding through the rain. 

“Hey!” My voice is lost in the rain and distant thunder. Kylo is passing out behind me again and threatening to fall into the pits of mud below us, so I summon all of my strength for a yell that would make a drill sergeant cry. “Help me, you bloody bastards!”

That gets their attention and several of them whip around on their horses. As soon as they realize who we are, the men are gathered around us, pulling Kylo off from behind me. I hop down barking orders. 

“Get him somewhere dry. On a blanket. I need antiseptic. Alcohol. Anything that burns. And cloth.” 

He’s laid on the ground, and I waste no time in shoving up his kilt and finding the bullet hole. It’s steadily leaking blood, but it’s not spurting. He would have been fine if he had just attended to it right away, now… I looked at his pale face and the way his eyelids flickered. 

“Where’s that bloody alcohol! He’s bleeding out.” I look up to see the group of Scottish rogues looking at me strangely. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Ye ken there’s easier ways to get into a lad’s kilt, lassie?” A short, burly, bearded man laughed. I shot up and shoved him with all my might. 

“He’s about to die if I don’t do something, ye ken?” I watch as the blood rushes from the man’s face. 

“Here’s your cloth and your alcohol, lass.” A hand gently pulls me away from the burly Scotsman and hands me the items. I snatch them from the giant and kneel next to Kylo. He’s going in and out of consciousness. I quickly take the cloth and tie it tightly above the bullet hole in a makeshift tourniquet. Kylo groans. 

“I know it hurts, but I have to stop the bleeding.” That’s just the first piece of the puzzle. If I leave the cloth on for too long, the leg would have to be amputated, but if I tried to sew him up in the middle of nowhere in the 1700s, he would get infected and die anyway. I tip the bottle of alcohol over the wound, trying to clean it. I wash my hands with the strange-smelling liquid and ignore the sad groans from the men around me. 

Now that the bleeding has slowed, I’m able to get a better look. If it’s hit his artery, it’s just barely. He would have died a long time ago. “How far is this castle of yours?”

“Less than a day’s ride.” The leader comments. He’s trying very hard to not look worried. “What do you need, lass?”

“Clean cloth. Maybe a needle and thread, but that can wait. The bullet went clean through. He would have been fine if he had stopped and bandaged himself right away, but he didn’t he-” I stop myself as I realize that I was the reason Kylo was laying on the ground. “He went after me.”

The leader nods to the giant and I do my best to cover Kylo from the rain. I can’t do much but pull the edge of his tartan over his shoulders and try to keep him awake. “Stay with me. Okay? Don’t close your eyes, you crazy bastard.”

I blink and try to push back my horrible memories of wartime. Of the boys dying in the hospital beds at the base and crying out for their mothers. A clean cloth is handed to me and I carefully pack and wrap the wound on his leg. Already, the tourniquet was working, boosting his blood pressure just enough to help him stay conscious. With enough constant pressure, it should be enough to stop the bleeding and allow me to remove the tourniquet very, very slowly. 

“We have to keep moving, sassenach.” The leader breaks the stormy silence. 

“Is there a cart or something he can ride in? He needs to be laying down, not overexerting himself. I have to remove the tourniquet slowly or the sudden change could kill him.”

“Then why’d ye put it on his leg in the first place?” The burly Scotsman grumbled. 

“I’ll ride. Dinnae worry, lass.” Kylo's hand brushes my arm and I pull away. 

The rest of the men take this as a sign to go back to their horses and ready themselves for the ride ahead. I realized in that moment that even the wars of the 1900s had their comforts and advantages. The giant helped us back to our horse, but this time I held the reins behind Kylo as he slumped forward over the horse’s neck. I helped him tuck his tartan over his shoulders and gratefully accepted an extra blanket from the giant for myself. It was enough to keep out the wind and the rain. 

To the dismay of all my travel companions, I stopped more often than necessary to check Kylo’s leg and loosen the tourniquet on his leg. To my surprise, he accepted my medical torture without complaint. 

The storm rolled away by evening, but we did not stop. I loosen the tourniquet completely, thankful that there were no obvious consequences. My medical knowledge was basic at best, mostly compiled from basic training and speaking with the nurse girls on base. 

It was enough to save Kylo’s life for now. 

My stomach roared with hunger and Kylo slowly reached into one of the saddlebags to pull out a small loaf of bread. I swapped the reins for it and greedily scarfed it down. It was quite stale, but my stomach no longer cared. 

The sun set and I fell into a deeply uncomfortable half-sleep against Kylo’s warm, broad back. My thighs were chafed to bleeding and every muscle in my body ached. Despite the blankets and my slowly drying clothes, a chill was settling deep into my bones. 

“Nearly there sassenach.”

What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower, a hot meal, a warm bed. Henry. 

“Who is Henry?”

I really have to stop speaking my mind aloud when I don’t realize it. It’s gotten me in trouble more times than I can count. I don’t lie though, “My husband.”

He would be, at least. In a little while, for a little while. I shiver, but now I can’t stop. Kylo reaches back and pulls me closer, wrapping my arms up in the tartan cloth around his shoulders. It’s not scary or predatorial, just kindness. Caring even. He wasn’t the terrifying man I at first believed him to be, though I still wasn’t sure about the others. 

The others seemed to try their best to avoid us. I had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t just me they were trying to avoid. The leader and the giant rode ahead of us while the rest rode behind. The burly one was the loudest of them all, talking jovially and singing, but even he seemed muted by my presence. They were all walking on eggshells around me, scared to say anything in case I was actually a spy.

“When we get to the castle, do I get to know their names?”

Kylo is silent for a moment, then he nods. “Ye do. Ye will find them out eventually.”

“You don’t speak like the others.” 

Kylo’s back tenses underneath me. “And ye ask far too many questions for a lass who is not a spy.”

I fall silent at that, unsure now how to smother my ever unbridled curiousness. Darkness has fallen all around us, but in the distance, I think I can see the flickering glow of candlelight in windows. More disconcerting is the fact that I can hear water. That of an ocean, not a lake or river. “Is that it?”

“Aye… Dun Mhuir. She guards the waters of an t-Eilean Sgitheanach.”

“The Isle of Skye.”

“Home to Clan Adharled and its Laird.” I couldn’t see Kylo’s face, but I could feel the way he tensed at his mention of the man. 

“Is this your home?”

“No.” 

I didn’t press him further as we rode towards shore to a small town near the shore. To my surprise, there was a boat waiting for all of us, a ferry which we climbed aboard and rode across the dark black waters. 

My life as I once knew it already seemed like a distant memory. My only reminder was the clothes on my back. As the lights of the harbor town and the castle grew closer, the hope in my chest grew faint. I had unknowingly and willingly walked into my own Alcatraz, the infamous American prison popping into my head as I stared at the formidable stone walls coming at me. 

It didn’t take long for us to cross the straight by ferry and ride through the quiet streets of the harbor down up to the walls of the castle. The light of morning was just beginning to peek over from across the water. 

“The sun will always rise in the east; the stars will always guide ye home. Dinnae be afeard young lass, where ever ye may roam.” 

“I dinnae ken that one,” Kylo says as we enter the courtyard. 

I smile. The poem I was thinking of hadn’t exactly been written yet. “No, I don’t think you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an t-Eilean Sgitheanach - /an ch aye len sgee ah nach/ - the Isle of Skye located off the Northwest coast of Scotland
> 
> Dun Mhuir - /duhn meer/ - Sea Fort - A fictional castle based on the Caisteal Maol
> 
> * I am not a native Scots Gaelic speaker and it's incredibly difficult to find pronunciations-- I'm doing my best! Some translations and pronunciations may not be correct (or make sense to a native/advanced speaker.


	5. Warm Fire, Cold Welcome

_Dun Mhuir, The Isle of Skye, Mid-1700s_

_Two Days Since the Stones..._

The castle awoke as we dismounted from our horses. I was so sore and chaffed that I could barely walk without grimacing. And it seemed that Kylo was in no better shape. 

“We need to get that wound patched up better.” I rush to steady him, but he shoos me away. 

“I’m fine, lass. Away with ye.” His mood had darkened considerably the moment we passed through the gates of the castle. The soft looks of appreciation I sometimes had gotten from him were vanished and replaced with a stony exterior and hard, uncaring eyes. I watched as he limped away with our horse and made plans to check on him later.

“Dinnae fash about him. He’s a strong lad.”

“Even strong lads can die of infection.”

“Aye.” The giant stops to stand beside me, looking me over with suspicion. “I suppose I owe you a debt for saving mo mhac.” 

Mo mhac? The word was familiar, but I had to think hard for it. It was difficult enough to understand the modern mix of Scottish Gaelic and English. “Son. He’s your son?”

“Nae, but he’s the closest I’ll ever have. Family, ye ken.” 

“Do I get your name for my debt?” I ask. 

“No need to throw away a debt for a name, lass. Cù Buchan. Chewie, if ye will.” He offers me his hand and I take it. 

“Rey Niima.” Every step I take feels like a test here. 

“Where come you from?”

“London.” I was still trying my best to stick as close to the truth as possible. 

“And how did you come to the Highlands?”

“With my husband.” I had the whole trip here to come up with a plausible story and yet I had failed to do so. I had been too preoccupied with escaping and making sure my captor didn’t die. 

“And where is ye husband now?”

“He’s gone. Dead,” I say quietly. In a way, that was the truth as well. 

The men around me are all dealing with horses and speaking in Gaelic as they had been the whole trip. Probably so that I would not understand them. 

“My apologies.”

I shrug half-heartedly. He wasn’t even dead, yet... Born, yet. I close my eyes and try to wrap my mind around my adventure. 

“Ye werenae fond of him?”

“I barely knew him. But he was my husband. And I loved him.” I tried to formulate my story quickly. Something that would explain what I was doing out in the middle of nowhere. “We were attacked on our way back to Inverness. He died and I ran and I kept running until I ran into Captain Snoke and his men and they mistook me for a whore.”

“It doesnae take much for a Sassenach to mistake.” The way he calls Captain Snoke a Sassenach is much different than when the men refer to me. There’s a bite to it, more like a curse. “Though yer claes are peculiar.”

I look down at my clothes which are barely dry and covered in mud. I’m thankful for stopping to change, as the thick pants and my trusty bomber jacket have likely saved me from freezing in the Highlands once more. “They’re… French.”

“Aye. French.” He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me, but he understands the strange habits of the French. Some things never change. 

The horses have all been lead to stables and the courtyard is beginning to wake. A door opens near us and a small woman with sharp eyes steps out. She instantly spies us. “Mo m' eudail! Good to see ye. Who’s the lass?”

“Rey Niima. Sassenach we picked up near Inverness. Laird will want to speak wi’ her.” Chewie claps a hand on my shoulder. “She’s a guest of Clan Adharled.”

I scoff. A guest. It was a strange way of saying prisoner. But if it kept me from being locked up in a cell, I would begrudgingly accept the position. The woman seemed to come to the same conclusion so she reached out a hand and I took it. “Cannae ‘ave ye goin’ to the Laird lookin’ like that.”

She introduced herself to me as Mavis Kent-Amos, the keeper of the house. “Though if ye call me anything but Maz, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”

I didn’t quite know what that meant, but I was sure it involved a good knock to the head. I let Maz drag me through the kitchens which were already filled with a flurry of activities. She shouted orders at the maids as we passed by and they hurried off. We left the kitchen for stone passageways lined with tapestries and flickering candles. There were doors leading to different rooms and a set of turning stone stairs that took us to the floor above to another passageway. This time, we went through a door and I found myself in a small bed-chamber. There was a tub on the floor, just barely big enough for someone to stand in, and a warm fire already crackling in the fireplace. I quickly knelt beside it and held my hands out to feel the warmth as Maz fussed with the bedsheets. 

“There’s a man that was shot on the way here. I stopped the bleeding, but he’ll be needing fresh bandages and something to help with the infection. Kylo, he said his name was?”

“Kylo?” Maz gives me a strange look.

“Er… Large, broad shoulders, very tall. Black hair. Big ears.”

“Och aye, ye mean Benjamin. A send him some things. Can hardly get tha lad to tak broth wi’ a cauld.” She finishes with the bed and moves on to stoke the fire beside me. “Ye ken medicine?”

“Some,” I say, and she waits for me to explain further. “My husband… My late husband was a physician. In London. I used to help him some.”

Lies. More and more lies. It was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with for my medical knowledge. Before Maz can ask any more questions, there’s a soft knock on the door and a group of women comes hurrying in shortly after. Two of them carry what seem to be large pots of water and place them near the fire. The other two are handling a large chest, which they leave at the foot of the bed. Maz inspects their work with her hawk-like eyes and nods tersely. “Verra well. Rose, stay to help.”

One girl stays and the sight of her confuses me. She looked to be of Asian descent, which stood out in the sea of Scottish faces I had seen recently. She quickly fell into helping Maz with the water and I could tell that she was trying to not look at me and gape. We were two strange features of this place, I was far from my time, and she was far from her home. I gave her a little smile as she caught me watching her and she smiled back. 

The tub was filled with water, some cold, some boiling so that when it all came together, it was a pleasant steaming temperature. I had expected the women to leave me to bathe, instead, Rose stood in front of me with her arms out to take my jacket. I slowly remove it, along with the rest of my clothes, feeling slightly uncomfortable as I stand naked in front of them. Neither of them seems to care, and I had shared enough powder rooms with women that I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but this was the first time that all the attention in the room was on me. 

I climb quickly into the tub and have but a moment to sigh at the relief of the hot water before Rose and Maz were scrubbing my skin clean. The hot water quickly turned a muddy brown. Rose set upon my hair, pulling the pins out and staring at them curiously. 

“They’re French.” I almost cringe at my own excuse. 

The girl pulls out the rest of my pins that held my hair in place in the two victory rolls that I had perfected during my time in the army. My hair falls against my shoulders. “Are the gals in France wearing their hair short now? With strange waves?”

“Er…” I really needed to stop using that excuse. “No. Just personal preference.”

“Ye have bonnie hair, miss.”

“Rey.” I smile at her just as a bucket of water is dumped over my head. 

“A kent the English hated the French, no?”

More tests. It seemed that Maz was in on Chewie’s plan to find my true intentions as a spy as well. “My husband was French.”

“Ah… A French Physician?” Maz chuckled, though I wasn’t sure what the joke was. “Weel, the Scots are friends of the French, lass.”

“Bonnie Prince Charlie.” The thought occurred to me suddenly. 

“Wheesht!” Maz hisses. “A wull have none of that Jacobite talk here.”

How close were we to the Battle of Prestonpans? Culloden? Were there people here who were buried beneath my feet only just a few days ago? Did they know that the end to life as they knew it was coming?

Maz stood and grabbed a robe to dry me with. I guess my bath was over. I stood and let her wrap me up in the cloth. Already I felt a hundred times better than before. 

In the rush of maids bringing the trunk and water, I hadn’t noticed that there was also a plate of food waiting for me. I dug in eagerly as the two women unpacked the trunk. For the most part, all I could make out was a pile of tartan cloth and cream-yellow undergarments. Maz noticed me watching. “Old dresses of Lady Leia’s. They should suit ye, with a few adjustments.”

I finished my food and stood for them to dress me, suddenly thankful that I was not alone. I was sure to make some sort of dressing blunder that would make them more suspicious of me than they already were. A shift was pulled over my head, then stockings tied below my knees. A surprisingly comfortable front lacing set of stays was tied on to me next, not too tight, but enough to give support. Two layers of woolen petticoats, followed by the tartan skirt that kept out the chill. I slipped my arms through a matching jacket that covered the rest of my stays. The sleeves only came down to my elbows, so Rose added woolen arm warmers. I sat for shoes that were soft and worn from their previous owner. Though I would have preferred my own boots, they were still soaked from the mud and rain.

Rose worked with my hair, pinning and tying it up into what must have been an acceptable hairstyle for me. And when I was done, they stood back to admire their work, nodding their approval. I felt incredibly silly like I was playing a dress-up part. 

“Rose, go see if the Laird is ready to see her.”

“Yes, Maz.” The young girl ducked her head and hurried out of the room. I sat down stiffly in the bed, trying to control my breathing. I knew little about the hierarchy of the clansmen, but I knew enough to understand that the Laird was the most important figure in a clan. He made all the decisions, solved all of the problems. I was determined to not be a problem. He needed to decide to send me back to Inverness, and I had to be the one to convince him. I had to play the part of an Englishwoman married to a Doctor who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Rose returned, and I was carted off through the halls once more. I hoped that this would be my final round of questioning, though I knew that my hopes were far too high. 

The room I was led to looked to be an office more than anything, though unlike any I’d seen. Books and papers and trinkets and items from around the words were scattered everywhere. Tapestries and grand paintings hung from the walls. The entire room and its contents dripped with history and I could only imagine what my husband would be saying if he were here right now. My heart breaks at the thought of him. 

I had to get back. 

Even if I had to fight tooth and nail to get there. 

A throat clears and I jump, suddenly noticing the ghost among the ancient items of the room. The man is greying, with a long beard and blue eyes that have seen ages pass before him. He looks as though he has become part of the room itself, a specter against the grey stone. 

I bow my head. “My apologies. I did not see you there.”

He grunts a laugh, “Yes, well, I’ve been told I would make a wonderful hermit.”

He’s been carefully tutored, but I can still hear an echo of Scottish brogue in his words. I fold my hands in front of me, trying to look far more relaxed than I felt. I was unsure if I should speak, or if I should let him continue. He gestures to an empty chair in front of a large wooden desk. “Please, Miss Niima.”

So, he’s already spoken to Chewie. I sit, and the moment I do, tea arrives. I graciously take a cup and breathe in the rich scent. I hadn’t known how much I wanted a good cuppa. 

“I hope that my men were not too rough with ye. I would like to formally offer the apologies of Clan Adharled and extend our heartiest welcome to our guest.”

 _Stay awhile, so that we can watch you._

“Thank you, Laird Adharled. I would like to ask you about finding transportation back to Inverness.”

“Do you have family there?”

“No. I assumed that I would be able to find transportation to London from there.”

“Yes, that is where Chewie said you were from. We can write to any family you may have there to assure them of your safety.” The Laird raises an eyebrow. 

“I have no family. I was an orphan. And Henry, my late husband, has no family either. I would be returning to our home in London.”

“Henry?” Adharled drew out the last symbol, looking for a last name. It caught in my throat as the flash of Henry’s eyes that were not his own watched me from the darkness. 

“Deschamps. Doctor Henry Deschamps.” Deschamps was the name of my commanding officer, the first French name that came to mind. I refused to give into filling the silence between us. 

“I am sorry for your loss, milady.”

“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “And I would like to thank your men as well, for finding me and saving me from the Englishmen. They were nothing but gentlemen to me. And I would like to thank you for your hospitality. My only wish is to return home to mourn my husband in peace and take care of his affairs.”

My eyes meet his and I find that we’re in a battle of the wills. I’m toeing around politics that I have no knowledge or understanding of. After a minute of considering, he nods. “Who am I to keep a grieving widow from laying her husband to rest? I am afraid that there aren’t many going from here to Inverness at the moment, nor straight to London. I believe that a merchant usually passes through here on his way to London. He should arrive in a month or so.”

All the air rushes from my lungs. 

A month. 

It’s already been a few days in this lifetime, and I’m longing to grasp a hold of anything to make sense of this all. I force myself to take a deep breath and smile. “Of course. Thank you, Laird Adharled.”

“Please, my guests may call me Luke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adharled is the closest my translation skills could get me to Skywalker... If anyone happens to know Gaelic please hit me up if you know something better! 
> 
> So many gaelic slang websites. Yes, this fic is designed to make a native speaker cry and/or laugh.


End file.
